


Slytherin and Hufflepuff

by MiraclesAndObstacles



Series: Hogwarts Series [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:59:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraclesAndObstacles/pseuds/MiraclesAndObstacles
Summary: A Slytherin.A Hufflepuff.Amortentia.(pure fluff.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> I'm back with a new part of my Hogwarts Series, and i really hope you like it.
> 
> As for another fic of mine, I have everything planned the only thing missing is the pairing. So you guys go ahead and please request a pairing in the comments below.
> 
> Lots of love,  
> xx

Yann loved Potions.

 

He’d taken it for six years now and was just so fascinated by the science of it.

And the explosions.

But like, you can have a simple little sneezing solution, right?

And you just add in the smallest drop of tree sap or the smallest sliver of dried lizard tail and suddenly you best not be drinking that motherfucker unless you want to sprout a tail or turn your hair a violent purple.

 

(Speaking from experience on that last bit, though Yann still insisted he pulled it off. Jonas begrudgingly agreed).

 

Or if you even add in an ingredient at the wrong time, like if you put the crushed beetle in before the eighth mix instead of after, bam! You’re fucked!

 

Yann loves it.

 

Then again, it’s easy to love something when you’re great at it.

 

Professor Hecking had actually said that Yann was the best in sixth year. But Hecking praised Yann constantly, so Yann took that with a grain of salt.

But really, Yann was good.

Which was why he’d been asked to come in down into the dungeons on a perfectly nice Sunday afternoon to brew some Amortentia for Hecking to show to his sixth-years.

 

Fake-ass bitch was probably going to take all the credit, too.

 

So that’s why Yann was down here, instead of out in the sun where he should by all rights be, sitting by the lake with Jonas and his fifth-year model boyfriend, Erik.

 

(Trying to push Jonas into the lake, really.)

 

(With help from Erik.)

 

Yann bleakly pushed open the heavy door to the Potions classroom, blinking in the dimness of the whole level.

 

You’d think he’d be used to it, as a Slytherin.

 

He went to collapse on a big wooden desk in the middle of the room, but someone had beaten him to it.

 

Yann cocked his head at the hair currently spread out over the table on top of a (quite nice) pair of arms.

These, and a (lovely) neck as well, were attached to a (nice, broad) back (which Yann would quite like to observe a little more actually).

And this back, in turn, was attached to some (long, long) legs (probably long enough that they’d be taller than Yann if he stood up) and the rest of a person, as these things usually were.

 

Yann dropped his bag on the table with a thunk.

 

The figure jolted up, accidentally slamming an elbow into Yann’s stomach, as they did, like some sort of gangly baby deer who simply lacked the muscle control to function like a real person.

Or a real deer.

Depending.

 

Yann grunted from the impact. The boy (because, he could see now, it was a boy) squeaked and raised wide eyes to Yann’s face.

 

“ _Hoppla **[1]**_ ,” he whispered.

 

And, seriously, _hoppla_?

What the fuck was up with that?

Who says that when they maul another person with a flying body part?

But Yann didn’t even care about the dumb response, because the boy was just so pretty, and Yann, being a SuperGay™, was quick to forgive pretty boys.

He had wide brown eyes, browner and shinier than they had any right to be, really, and a perfectly formed pale face, with plush pink lips that Yann had to restrain himself from touching.

Because it’s fucking weird to go around touching the pretty lips of the pretty boy you haven’t even said a word to.

Which reminds him.

 

“Hi,” Yann whispered back.

 

Whispering was the only way to talk when you run into a god, after all.

 The boy blushed, smiling sheepishly.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

 

Yann blushed back, which was stupid, because a) this boy had hit him, and b) now he was smiling, and Yann was smiling back. But it was easy to forget the previous accidental violence after hearing a voice as deep and soft as the pale boy’s was.

 

Yann slid onto the bench next to him.

 

“It’s no problem, actually,” he said. “Didn’t even hurt much, really, I’ve been working on my abs for Quidditch.”

 

Yann winced. He didn’t really say that to the prettiest boy in the world, did he? Shit, he must have sounded like such a fuckboy.

 

But the other boy didn’t seem to mind. “Oh, yeah, you’re on Slytherin’s team, aren’t you? That really small Seeker, right?”

 

Yann pouted. “I’m not small, you’re just a giant.”

 

The other boy smiled widely at him, a dimple popping in his cheek. Yann suddenly decided he needed to drink butterbeer out of that dimple.

 

“Maybe,” the other boy said slowly. “Well, then, hello, I’m Roman Bürki, the Giant.”

 

Yann smiled. “And I’m Yann Sommer, the perfectly normal-sized person.”

 

Roman grinned lopsidedly again. “What are you doing in the dungeons instead of enjoying this beautiful day?”

 

Yann opened his mouth to reply, but just then Professor Hecking burst in with arms full of a cauldron that was full as well, effectively stopping Yann from impressing the prettiest boy in the world and probably his soulmate with his amazingly sharp wit.

 

“Hello, boys,” said Professor Hecking. Loudly. “Got here early, eh?”

 

Yann raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re actually just late.”

 

Hecking laughed boisterously. “Such a quick wit this one has.” He winked at Roman. “Anyway, down to business, right?”

 

He dropped the cauldron onto the table. “Amortentia,” he began dramatically. “The most powerful love potion in the world. It can create illusions of love, can rejuvenate a person, and sometimes, though rarely, reveal a soulmate. Distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen and spiral steam, Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what attracts them. It creates infatuation, but not love, and your job today is to make it so I can show it off to my sixth-years.”

 

Roman nods. “Alright. How do we do that?”

 

Hecking slammed a book down on the table dramatically.

(The man needs to calm the fuck down, honestly.)

“It’s all in here, boys.”

 

Yann nodded. “So, Professor, if you’re teaching me all about this now, what am I supposed to do in class?”

 

Hecking smiled.

It was creepy, like a frog licking its lips.

“Sleep, maybe. Seems like that’s what you usually do, anyway.”

 

Roman let out a loud laugh at that, and Yann frowned.

Letting pretty boys know about your lack of scholarly potential was not the way to get them to marry you and have twelve babies with you.

 

“Anyway,” Hecking continues, “I’m going to go outside. It’s a beautiful day, you know! Just leave potion in here when you finish, and I’ll see you at dinner!”

And he left.

(That old fucker.)

 

“Well,” Yann said, pulling the book over to him and opening it. “Can’t be too hard.”

 

Roman giggled.

(Yann was endeared.)

“He did pick us for our amazing prodigy skills, after all.”

 

Yann skimmed the page with the Amortentia’s brewing instructions. “Fuck, that looks hard.”

 

Roman looked seriously at Yann. “We’re going to die in here.”

 

Yann stared a little too long at Roman’s eyes. “Probably,” he agreed cheerily. “Well, let’s get to work then, Roman!”

  

-

They set to work, laying out ingredients and neatly slicing, mixing and powdering them.

 

“What do you think yours will smell like?” Roman asked.

 

“Don’t know,” Yann responded. “It says it’ll smell like people and things you love.”

 

Roman looked at the book. “Says here it should smell like your soulmate, too.”

 

Yann raised an eyebrow. “How the fuck would that help anyone? Does the wizarding community want me to go ‘round smelling every bloke I see until I find a match?”

 

Roman smiled widely at that information, looking like he’d stored something away there. “I hope my soulmate doesn’t smell like shit,” he said casually.

 

Yann choked on a laugh. “Oh, god, I hadn’t considered that.”

 

Roman laughed. “I actually think mine will smell like the bakery I work at in the summer and fresh parchment. And my mum, probably,” he blushed.

 

Yann smiled softly. “I think mine will smell like my mum, the cut grass on the Quidditch pitch, and Chocolate Frogs.”

 

Roman laughed. “Chocolate Frogs, really?”

 

Yann shrugged. “They taste good, Roman!”

 

Roman smiled bashfully. “You’re sweet enough…”

 

Yann hid his smile and blush in his shirt as he read the instructions, listening happily to Roman shuffling around next to him.

 

The boys naturally drifted closer as they worked. Yann figured they’d be out in less than an hour, but brewing the potion was proving to be fucking hard, and he wasn’t about that.

It was frustrating, and kept getting more frustrating, and Yann found himself snapping at Roman more as they kept going.

 

First they’d add a wrong ingredient, then they’d stir it wrong, then the damn thing would just turn purple instead of blue for no discernable reason, and Yann was really starting to despise love potions.

 

“What the fuck is this even supposed to be!” he exclaimed.

 

“It says that right now it should be a ‘smooth blood-orange colour.’” Roman read.

 

“Blood orange!” Yann practically yelled. “ Blood orange? That’s so fucking pretentious! It’s fucking red!”

 

Roman shrugged. “I don’t know, I think they’re different. It’s like an orangey-red, you know?”

 

“No,” Yann said sharply, “I don’t fucking know, because blood orange isn’t a fucking colour!”

 

Roman shrugged. “It says blood orange.”

 

“I know what it says, Harold,” Yann snapped.

 

Roman frowned pointing to the mixture in the cauldron (the third batch so far). “At least ours is the right colour.”

 

“Red,” Yann muttered.

 

-

Finally, the potion seemed to be right, and it turned a pleasant gold as Yann sprinkled in the last powdered beetle. The steam spiralled up into the air, and it had a nice pearl sheen to it.

 

Yann looked at Roman. “I think we actually did it. I almost don’t want to know if it isn’t right.”

 

Roman looked at Yann with wide eyes. “Let’s smell it together, then.”

 

Yann nodded, and they both leaned in.

 

Yann paused with his head over the cauldron, next to Roman’s, but all he could smell was the amplified apple smell of Roman’s hair.

 

“What the fuck?” Yann said. “Isn’t it supposed to have a smell?”

 

Roman frowned, pulling back. “Why isn’t it working?”

 

“I can’t smell a damn thing!” Yann growled. “We fucked it up!”

 

“No!” Roman protested. “I’m 110% sure we did it exactly right this time!”

 

“Well, obviously we didn’t!” Yann argued.

 

“Well maybe I would be able to smell something if you hadn’t spent so much time on the Quidditch pitch! You smell like fucking grass and wood!”

 

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Buckets of Apple Conditioner!”

 

“What the fuck!” Roman growled. “How did we fuck it up? I followed the instructions exactly! We were so careful!”

 

Yann frowned. “Obviously you read them wrong, then!”

 

Roman frowned back. “I’m sure I didn’t!”

 

They argued pointlessly back and forth for a good ten minutes before they were interrupted by the slamming open of the dungeon door.

 

“Boys!” Hecking greeted. “My two potions prodigies! How’s the potion!” he paused. “Oh, it looks perfect! The colour, the shine, the steam! Good job!”

 

He rushed over to the table and took in a deep breath, sighing. “Ah, the smell of sweet cake! And my soft linens! This is my absolute favourite potion, and I must say you did a fantastic job!”

 

Yann frowned, confused. “What-” he started.

 

Hecking cut in. “This is amazing, boys, but such a pain to make, isn’t it? Thank you so much for doing this for me. Twenty points to Slytherin and Hufflepuff each! Well, goodbye! I’m going to see if the house-elves will bake me a cake.”

 

And the wizard swept out of the room.

 

“Perfect?” Yann echoed, confused.

 

“But I didn’t smell anything,” Roman said quietly.

 

“And I could only smell your weird apple shit,” Yann said just as softly.

 

A weird look suddenly came over Roman’s face. “My apple conditioner?”

 

Yann nodded.

 

“But Julian was hogging the shower this morning. I didn’t get a chance to use it today.”

 

Yann’s eyes grew wide, but Roman’s grew wider. “And I smelled your Quidditch smells…”

 

“...But I haven’t been on the pitch since Thursday,” Yann finished.

 

The pair were silent for a second, just staring at each other with wide eyes.

 

“Didn’t that book say…” Yann trailed off.

 

Roman nodded. “There was a line about soulmates.”

 

Yann stared at him for a second.

Then, “Would you like to go sit under a nice tree by the lake with me for a while?”

 

Roman nodded slowly, smiling. “Like a date?”

 

Yann smiled. “Well, we did just say we’re soulmates, so it seemed in line…”

 

Roman grinned, dimples popping. “I think I’d love that.”

 

Yann smiled back at him, just as bright, and grabbed his hand, pulling him away and out of the dungeons, smelling the crisp apple all the way out of the castle and into the sun.

 

 

[1] Swiss German for _oops_.


End file.
